Seeing the world in black and white. He paused the video stream and stared out of the window. The tarmac was grey, but even that was marked with yellow lines, and it sparkled with glass broken over the years, sending thousands of minute arcs of coloured light upwards. The recycling bins were green but mottled from weather and scratches, giving them a more interesting worn look that revealed layers of older paint in different colours. In comparison, the billboard above him was a riot of tones, each designed to grab a child’s attention and subject the parents to demands to be bought whatever crap was being advertised. How flat her world must be, Fergus thought. Like his. A black veil between each of them and everyone else. He touched the screen and Connie came back to life.

‘Or I’ll meet you. Name the place. I’ll guarantee to be alone. I know that seems unlikely and you’ll be thinking it’s a trap, but I wouldn’t do that. I’m staying at The Balmoral hotel.’

There was an audible gasp from the background. He stopped the video, rewound a couple of seconds and played it again. The gaspers were out of sight, but the sound was loud, a mixture of men’s and women’s voices. She wasn’t supposed to have told him where she was staying. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. There was no script, and if there was, she’d just gone off it spectacularly. He wished he could have been there. Connie Woolwine played by her own rules. Like him. Conventions didn’t apply to some people. Certainly not to either of them. He hit Play.

‘You can find me there. No one needs to know where or when. I’m giving you this information because I trust you. I think you have a reason for everything you’ve done. I know the things you’ve done aren’t random or gratuitous. We understand each other.’

Connie sat back on the stool and wrapped her arms around her waist. Fergus wondered if she had children, but there was no ring on her left hand, and her stomach was so flat it was impossible to think her body had ever been stretched by a baby.

‘But call me soon,’ she said. ‘Xavier will get ill, and I need to know that Elspeth and Meggy are still alive. I think we have a lot to say to one another. Thank you.’

She gave a final gentle smile, then the picture faded to black, and an information screen with a telephone number came up. Fergus paused it, grabbing a pen from the glove compartment and writing the number on the back of his hand. Not that he was seriously contemplating calling. He had things to achieve to ensure his passage into the next life. No point jeopardising it.